


The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Boop"

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Powers (Supernatural), Angel Vision, Bunker Fic, Canon Compliant, Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Fluff, Gen, Research, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Self-Defense, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 02:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: Makael's grace is recovering, and Castiel decides that it's time for her to learn how to use her angelic powers to defend herself.Author's Note: This takes place after "Nihilism," and before "Damaged Goods." I've decided to do a series of vignettes from around the Bunker as Makael recovers. Mostly fun and fluff, but I'm also referring to meta content, and in some entries I'm addressing fandom theories and ideas.In this installment, Makael learns how to use her powers to knock an opponent unconscious--but she's more than a little anxious about practicing on Sam.





	The Angel Room - Vignettes from the Bunker: "Boop"

_**Boop:  
**_ Sam is usually right.

That’s not making Makael feel any less anxious, however.

She’s in Jack’s room. Jack is perched cross legged at the foot of his bed, and Sam’s sitting in the chair he’s pulled up in the corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Castiel is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and Makael is just to his left, bracing the small of her back against the little washbasin. Everyone is looking at her expectantly, and she wants to sink into the floor and disappear.

She’s reaching the end of her third week in the Bunker and, over the past few days, the speed of her recovery has picked up significantly. She only needs cat naps here and there, now, and heat and cold are things she once again simply registers as external to her. For that, she’s grateful. She hated being cold, and goosebumps horrified her the first time she experienced them. Dean still occasionally calls her “Pebbles” because she was so distraught by the hard bumps that had “inexplicably” formed on her skin, and initially thought she had contracted some kind of mortal disease.

She much prefers “Em.”

Along with the good in her recovery, however, comes the … less good. Food tastes like its individual molecules again, and she’s in something like mourning over it.

When she told Dean a few days ago, his face fell for a moment—he’d just been talking about a new burger recipe he wanted to try, which involved stuffing the burgers with pimento cheese—but then he’d smiled and put a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s good. That’s really good, Em. I mean, it sucks that you can’t taste food right anymore, but getting your powers back on track—that’s good, right?”

If he’d posed that question weeks ago, she’d have agreed without hesitation. Instead, it took her a second to return his smile and nod. She likes being an angel but … it’s taken her by surprise, the things she’s enjoyed about being nearly human. And she worries about what else will change as her grace reasserts itself. She’s just starting to find her place here, and she doesn’t want anything to disrupt that.

Castiel, on the other hand, is pleased. Recently, he’s begun having her test out her powers. Two days ago, she was able to perform a simple blood-spell without feeling fatigued afterwards. Yesterday, she was able to slam a door shut from the other end of the room with a simple gesture.

Afterwards, he sat her down in the War Room, his clear blue eyes serious and focused.

“I’d like to train you,” he’d said.

She’d frowned at him in confusion. “Ketch trained me,” she replied. “And Sam’s been helping me with sparring.”

Castiel’s lips had compressed momentarily at the mention of Ketch. “Yes, and Ketch trained you well,” he admitted. “And you’re learning important things from Sam. But they can only teach you _human_ fighting techniques. You’re an angel. You have more in your arsenal than a human does.”

Makael’s eyes had widened at that. She’d sorted through the feelings that surged through her in response. Strong emotions, she’d discovered, were proving slower to fade than the other elements of humanity she’d picked up.

Castiel had been a garrison commander—one of the finest warriors in Heaven, in fact, and she felt appreciation that he would find her worthy of his time and mentorship. But she also felt worry. After a moment, she pinned down its source.

“I … I’ve never used my powers to harm, Castiel. Only to help.”

Castiel had nodded. “I know,” he said, gravely. “But this is important. Being here? With us? We are _always_ going to be on the front lines, and I want you to have every possible advantage in a fight. If something happened to you, when a simple knowledge of how to use our powers properly would have made a difference …” His voice trailed off, and Makael had studied his face for a long moment, then nodded.

This is how she’d ended up here, now, in Jack’s room, with everyone staring at her expectantly. Castiel just asked, “Are you ready?” and everyone is waiting for her answer.

Sam believes she can do it, and Sam’s usually right. But Makael is still worried.

She bites her lip. “What if I hurt him?” she asks Castiel, glancing at Sam.

It’s Sam who answers. “You won’t,” he says, soothingly. “I trust you. And I trust Cas to show you how to do this right.”

“But if I do it wrong, I could give you brain damage, or put you in a coma, or—”

Sam smiles, and repeats himself. “I trust you.” His smile widens. “Besides, I could really use a nap.”

Castiel is, in his own words, “starting her off slow”: he’s going to teach her how to knock someone out with a touch.

So Sam is teasing her, trying to use humor to dispel her concern. But it’s also true: he really _could_ use a nap—more than that, he could use at least twenty-four hours of uninterrupted sleep, and that’s what makes her subside. She can see the weariness in his eyes and in his posture. Not only is he worried about his brother, but he’s still coordinating all the doings of the AU hunters, and he’s been pushing himself hard to get through all the new material that they have from Makael’s library and from the Men of Letters’ Rhode Island chapter house.

Dean isn’t the only one carrying a heavy burden.

With Michael still in Dean’s head (although he’s quieter now, since Makael made Dean the recordings of her singing), he’s not a candidate for this exercise. So Dean is currently in the library, sifting through the files from the Portsmouth capitulum that they haven’t had an opportunity to read through yet. A lot of the chapter’s files had been left in disarray, and were poorly labelled. Turns out that in addition to being crazy, Diego Avila was pretty awful at organization. Getting through everything has been slow going.

With Dean out, that leaves Sam and Jack. After a quick discussion earlier, the three of them agreed that Castiel would show Makael how to execute the move on Jack, and then she could try it out on Sam.

“You’ll be fine,” says Castiel, reassuringly. “Just watch carefully. All right?”

Jack smiles brightly at Makael, completely confident in the two of them, and not worried about Sam at all. Makael sighs, trying to quell her nerves.

“All right,” she says, finally. Sam nods at her encouragingly.

She pulls up her angelic sight, and Castiel flares to bright, white-blue life in front of her as he steps fully into the room, angling himself slightly toward her. His true form is beautiful, all shades of ice and the hottest fire, a halo of burning light encircling his head.

Even as an angel herself, Makael can understand why, over the eons, countless creatures have trembled in fear at Castiel’s presence.

His wings, though, are tucked in closely to him, broken and black as jet, humming with a midnight blue energy. Although her own wings are in a similar state of injury, it still hurts her to see his so damaged, and she has to fight the urge to reach out and stroke soothing fingers over the brittle, ruined feathers. Her hands curl reflexively at her sides.

With an effort, she turns her attention away from Castiel and to Jack, taking the opportunity to check on Jack’s soul. After a brief examination, she’s satisfied with what she sees. She still doesn’t much like the look of the magic that’s keeping his soul in his body, but the soul itself shines golden and vibrant, and is only slightly dimmer than Sam’s. When she glances at him, Sam’s soul dazzles her with its brightness—so much so that she has to look away quickly.

Castiel raises his hand. “Let’s get started, then. Can you see what I’m doing?”

If she was just using her vessel’s eyes, nothing would be obvious. There is no flare of celestial light, no visible sign that Castiel is doing anything at all. But with her angelic sight, she can see the surge of energy that is coursing from the center of Castiel’s being, gathering and focusing in his index and middle fingers.

She pushes off from the edge of the sink and moves closer, fascinated. “It’s very similar to the spectrum we use for healing,” she murmurs, surprised.

Castiel nods. “Exactly.”

“Uh,” interjects Sam, curiously, “what exactly _are_ you doing? Jack and I can’t see any of this.”

Castiel turns to him. “It’s difficult to explain to humans,” he says, “but I’ll try. As you know, angels are, essentially, celestial energy. We exist as multidimensional wavelengths.”

Sam nods, his brow crinkling with concentration. “Right,” he says, nodding. “You’ve, uh, mentioned that before.”

“Mm.” Castiel tilts his head slightly, recalling. “Oh. Yes. Apologies, Sam. I believe I was rather short with you the last time we talked about this.”

Sam’s eyes widen slightly with surprise. “That was ages ago, Cas. Water under the bridge. Besides, I was kinda soulless at that stage— _whichwasnotyourfault_ —and I wasn’t exactly at my most polite, either.” The middle part is blurted out preemptively—almost before Castiel’s face falls, slightly, in reaction to the mention of Sam’s interim without a soul. Castiel’s expression settles, though, at Sam’s words, and he gives him a small nod.

“Oh,” breathes Makael, who’s missed most of the nonverbal part of the exchange. Her expression has changed entirely, and she’s dropped her angelic vision. He eyes are gleaming with excitement. “You’re talking about the ‘people skills’ scene.”

“What?” asks Sam, his brow crinkling further.

Since their first meeting, Makael has discovered that, amongst the many things she likes about Sam, she  _ really  _ likes the way his brow crinkles—but right now she’s too excited to give it more than a quick glance. “I—uh, so—I’ll be, uh—right back.”

She darts out the door, leaving Jack, Castiel, and Sam exchanging confused looks, which only deepen when a muted, high-pitched noise drifts back to them from the hallway.

“That’s …” says Sam, frowning.

“She’s making her fangirl noise,” observes Jack, conversationally.

“Oh dear,” says Castiel.

Sam snorts, and scrubs his hand over his jaw, repressing a smile.

A few minutes later, Makael is back, wearing an entirely different top. This one is a slate grey, form fitting t-shirt, and features a cartoonized Castiel, one eyebrow arched, the other scrunched down as he makes air quotes with his fingers. Beneath him, in white script, are written the words, _My “people skills” are “rusty.”_

Castiel’s face goes blank as Jack exclaims with delight, “That’s _you!_ ”

Makael beams, and Sam starts laughing, quietly, in his chair. “No frigging way,” he chokes out, after a moment. “Em, seriously, someone made a t-shirt of that?”

“Yes!” She’s practically vibrating, she’s so excited. “I can’t believe you two just brought it up. It’s an all-time fan-favorite Castiel scene.”

“Why?” Castiel’s face is a study; there’s exasperation, confusion, and a tinge of awe all mixed together simultaneously.

“Apparently because it’s so quintessentially you … us, really,” she says. She leans towards him conspiratorially. “Because we’re not entirely familiar with human idiosyncrasies, we evidently sometimes get things _almost_ right, but not quite. Here, it has something to do with your use of air quotes, but I’ve never fully determined what, exactly, was wrong with them, so I tend to avoid using them entirely. In any case, fans seem to find moments like these _cute_.” She beams.

Sam is shaking in his chair at this stage, and Castiel throws him an annoyed look. Jack, on the other hand, is looking a little lost, and Makael says, sympathetically, “This all happened back in Season 6, Jack. Castiel has had much more practice at human interaction now, so it doesn’t really happen that much anymore. If you’d like, I can show you the scene this shirt is referencing later.”

“Uh—” begins Castiel, with something akin to panic flashing in his eyes.

“I’d love that,” says Jack, with an earnest smile.

Castiel’s lips compress, and he looks heavenwards and sighs as Makael returns Jack’s smile.

“We can make it a viewing party!” she says. “Which means snacks.” Even though she can't enjoy food anymore, it doesn't mean that Jack won't.

“Nougat.” Jack’s entire face lights up.

“Uh-huh,” she nods.

“Do I get a say in this at all?” asks Castiel, his tone verging on plaintive.

“No,” say Jack and Makael simultaneously—Jack, very matter-of-factly, and Makael’s eyes sparkling with humor.

“This is kinda like when families find old videos of their kids and show them to the next generation,” says Sam. “It’s a rite of passage, man. A very uncomfortable, embarrassing rite of passage.” He chuckles—the kind of chuckle that Sam doesn’t let out often, low and full of mischief. It makes Makael think of his Padalecki doppelganger, who tends to laugh a lot more than Sam.

“Hm,” grumbles Castiel, but he’s repressing a smile.

Makael sighs happily. “I’m so glad I brought this stuff back with me. Some time I’ll have to show you my ‘I lost my shoe’ pendant, Sam.”

Sam chokes as she turns back to Castiel.

“But I interrupted. You were explaining to Sam about us being ‘multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent’.” She lets out a little squeak after the phrase rolls off her tongue. “I got to say it,” she whispers, mostly to herself.

Castiel shakes his head, but turns his attention back to Sam, who’s still recovering. “What I’m going to teach Makael—it involves what I believe you humans call string theory. Because we exist in multiple dimensions at once, we have access to energy that humans can’t perceive. When we render someone unconscious, we push some of that energy through them, stimulating a sleep response in the brain.”

Sam frowns as his focus returns. “I guess I never really thought about it before. Just thought it was … angel magic.”

“Oh, no, it’s all very scientific,” says Cas, his tone warming with enthusiasm. “If you’d like to look into it further, I’d suggest starting with Planck length and Planck time—the smallest units of measurement in the universe—well, at least, the smallest of what you humans have discovered. What I’ll be drawing on exists in between these measurements.”

“Huh,” says Sam, his tone thoughtful.

Castiel turns a dry look at Makael. “Are you ready to get started now?” he asks, his eyes skimming his own likeness on her shirt once more, his mouth turning down slightly at the corners.

She grins at that, even as she pulls up her other sight again and nods. She watches the energy pool in his core, running down the length of his arm like water before it focuses once again in his fingertips. She steps towards him and reaches out, sobering. “May I?”

“Of course,” he says and she lightly takes his much larger hand in her vessel’s palms, cradling it. She lifts his hand, turning it, _feeling_ the energy as well as looking at it. The resonance of it is completely different from what she was expecting.

“I thought it would be …” Her voice trails off.

“Like smiting?” finishes Castiel, gently. He shakes his head, and when she looks up at him, she can see the icy blue of his grace overlaying the bright, sky-blue of his vessel eyes, like a superimposed image. “This is an entirely different wavelength. It’s meant to prevent any harm from coming to a human.” He pauses, then adds, “See if you can match it.”

Makael nods, letting go of his hand, then focuses. It still takes more effort than it normally would for her to draw upon her true self, her angelic energy, but after a moment, power has flowed from her core to her fingers. Castiel examines it carefully.

“Shift the frequency slightly,” he says. “You’re almost there.”

He’s right. She can feel that she’s slightly off. If it was music, it would be like two almost-identical notes—but one (hers) is very slightly under pitch.

She frowns with concentration, shifting what she’s channeling from her core a few minute degrees, and smiles when she finds the frequency settling into place, creating a resonance with what Castiel is doing that hadn’t been there a few seconds before.

He smiles. “Good. Hold it, feel it.”

She closes her eyes, nodding, lets the frequency settle into her being, memorizing the sensation of it.

“All right. Now, let it go.”

She frowns in surprise, opening her eyes. “But I thought—”

“I want you to be able to draw on it without needing to think about it before we proceed,” says Castiel, pragmatically. He drills her, over and over again, on pulling up the energy, getting the frequency correct, and then letting it go.

In the middle of it, Sam says, “Dumb question, but do all angels need to be taught how to do this? Like, is there, I dunno, a school for it, or something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. Angels like myself, members of the garrison, we were created with the innate ability to do this. But because Makael was a member of the choir, she wasn’t programmed with that knowledge.”

“So when you told Dean that you aren’t a warrior,” says Jack, consideringly, “you _really_ meant it. It’s not just a matter of … designation.”

Makael shakes her head. “No. It’s a matter of _design_. But the good thing is, as Castiel has proven, we’re more than the sum of our programming.”

“We’re all made of the same stuff,” adds Castiel, “which is why I can teach her how to do this. But it’s not something she can automatically do, any more than I can instinctively sing.”

Sam’s been listening intently to all of this, but his lips quirk up at that last bit. He ducks his head to hide his smile.

A few more minutes pass as Makael practices, until finally she’s able to call up the correct energy without needing to focus.

“Good. That was quicker than I thought it would be.” Castiel expression is pleased, and Makael feels a surge of pride, remembering Ketch calling her a ‘quick study’. Apparently that doesn’t just apply to learning physical combat skills. “I think we can proceed. Jack, are you ready?”

Jack, who’s been watching raptly, smiles and nods. He unwinds his legs and sets his feet firmly on the floor, his hands loose and relaxed on his lap. As Castiel approaches, he turns his face trustingly up to the seraph. Sam sits up in his chair, leaning forward.

Castiel draws the invisible energy up again, and reaches his two fingers toward Jack’s temple, stopping just shy of actually touching him. He turns his blue eyes to Makael. “Watch carefully, Sister,” he says, then lightly touches Jack’s forehead.

To the human eye, it looks like Jack simply collapses, like a puppet with its strings cuts. He flops bonelessly back onto the bed, his entire body unnaturally slack before he’s even made contact with the covers. His eyes are closed, his face clear and relaxed.

Makael, however, can see what’s happening under the surface, and what happens is … beautiful.

The energy washes through Jack’s whole brain like an invisible wave, but it only interacts with one section—what Makael learns later is the hypothalamus. In one area of the hypothalamus, it gently runs over a set of dormant neurons, rather like the way she’s seen people stroke a cat, and coaxes them into synchronous action. Once active, they light up like a fireworks display. Simultaneously, another section goes quiescent. It’s gorgeous, visually stunning to witness.

All of this happens before he hits the mattress.

“… and, boop,” says Sam, with a smile. “He’s out.”

“Were you able to see clearly what I did?” asks Castiel.

Makael nods. “It was … amazing,” she murmurs.

Castiel’s eyes warm. “You ready to try it on Sam?” he asks.

She nods.

They tuck Jack in before they leave the room, covering him with a blanket and putting a pillow under his head. He doesn’t stir the entire time, other than deep, calm breaths.

“All right,” says Sam, when they arrive at his room, “Let’s do this. But I’m gonna lie down, because, well …” He indicates Makael’s much smaller size. If Jack had tipped forward instead of backward, it would have been easy for Castiel to catch and right him. Makael catching Sam, even with her inhuman strength? Not so easy.

“Good idea,” says Castiel.

While Sam is settling his oversized self on the mattress, Makael pulls up the energy again, has Castiel double-check it to make sure everything’s all right.

“Is there anything in particular you did when you pushed it through Jack?” she asks.

Castiel shakes his head. “No. Just think of it like a nudge. It’s not forceful.”

“All right.” Makael draws up a chair next to the head of the bed. She looks down at Sam and bites her lip. “You’re _sure_ you want me to do this? I mean, we could wait until we have a bad guy all tied up for me to practice on.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nap. Now.” He smiles as Makael laughs.

She sobers quickly, though, as she looks into his eyes, and tilts her head suddenly. “You have all the planet’s colors in there,” she murmurs. “Gold, brown, green, blue.”

Sam’s cheeks turn suddenly pink. “Uh, thank you?” he says, making it a question.

“It’s very beautiful,” she says, matter-of-factly. Then she reaches out two fingers. “Here goes nothing.”

Her fingertips touch his forehead, and she nudges the energy out and into his brain.

It’s a very different thing to do it than it was to watch Castiel. She can _feel_ the interaction of the energy with Sam’s brain, feel it turn on those neurons, feel the flashes of life and dormancy that alternate within the hypothalamus as the sleep center switches on and the area that controls wakefulness falls quiet: little sparks of electricity shining bright in the darkness.

She withdraws her fingers from Sam’s forehead, letting out a breath.

He’s out cold, his eyes closed, his entire body relaxed, his breathing deep.

She turns wide eyes to Castiel. “I did it!” Her voice is a mixture of awe and jubilation.

Castiel smiles. “You did it,” he replies. “And he’s fine.”

Makael jumps up from her seat and throws her arms around Castiel in an impromptu hug. “Thank you, Brother,” she says, softly, into his trenchcoat. She pulls back and looks up at him. “You are an amazing teacher.”

Castiel’s blue eyes are warm. “And you are an excellent student,” he says.

“I have to go tell Dean,” exclaims Makael, and Castiel nods and ushers her out of the room.

She finds Dean in the library, his earbuds in, listening to a recording of Makael’s voice as he goes through a stack of papers.

During her recording sessions, she’d worked through most of the Led Zeppelin repertoire, as well as songs by Foreigner, Kansas, Black Sabbath, and Metallica—even a couple by Bon Jovi. So far, the recordings are still working, and as long as Dean is listening to her voice, Michael is quiet.

Makael still isn’t sure how conducive her voice is to the genre of music that Dean prefers, but he’s assured her that listening to her singing is _vastly_ preferable to Michael’s screaming and pounding in his head.

Fair enough.

Dean looks up at the movement of Makael entering the library, with Castiel trailing behind her. He pulls one of the earbuds out. “How’d it go?” he asks.

“Dean!” says Makael triumphantly, “I just booped your brother!”

Dean stares at her for a long moment, blankly. Then he flicks eyes that are sparking with humor to Castiel, before he refocuses on Makael. He grins boyishly, starts to say something, pauses, clears his throat, and then says, finally, “Good for you!”

Makael lets out a happy sigh, and pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the table, Castiel sitting beside her.

“Although,” says Dean after a moment, “I might phrase that differently in the future.”

Makael tilts her head at him. “Why?” she asks.

The tips of Dean's ears redden. “Uh …”

**END SCENE.**

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:  
> ** 1) I’ve really wanted for a while to have a fic where Cas mentors Em, because I love the relationship they have with each other and wanted the opportunity to explore it more. I also wanted to delve into why she wouldn’t have been using things like smiting or “booping” in her earlier fights—it’s because she literally doesn’t know how. I could see something like healing being an inherent part of a member of the choir’s programming, but offensive moves being something only the warrior angels know how to do instinctively. Hence, this fic.
> 
> 2) British science fiction writer Arthur C. Clark (who, amongst many other works, co-wrote the screenplay for  _ 2001: A Space Odyssey _ ) famously stated that “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Along those lines, I like to think that a lot of the magic that angels use in  _ Supernatural  _ is actually very much based in science and the natural law—we just aren’t sufficiently advanced to understand it. I really wanted to take the opportunity of Makael’s training to give us a potential glimpse into how angel magic works, and to weave this in with established canon about angels.
> 
> This is why I referenced Cas’ “multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent” comment from Season 6’s “The Third Man.” I found a great breakdown of what this might mean scientifically from a fan by the name of Carlos here:  [ https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20101014191423AArKhp3 ](https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20101014191423AArKhp3) and integrated it into my discussion of just what Castiel is doing when he knocks someone out: using his access to multidimensional energy to stimulate the brain to “turn on” its sleeping function.
> 
> After doing a little bit of research, I discovered that two different areas of the brain’s hypothalamus are responsible for sleep and wakefulness. When the “sleep neurons” are on, they inhibit the neurons in the hypothalamus that keep us awake, and vice-versa. I tried to describe this process a bit in the fic—hopefully it worked! 
> 
> 3) While I was writing this, I ended up showing a friend the scene from “The Third Man” that I reference, as well as a scene from this season’s “Gods and Monsters” (14.2), where Castiel talks to Jack about the Great Fall. She commented on the incredible amount of growth that has happened for Castiel between those two scenes. She felt almost as if they were two different characters. It got me to thinking about growth and maturity, and snapshots in time of who we are, which in turn got me thinking about family movies, and the rite of passage of having the next generation watch videos of their parents as children. I really felt as if the existence of the  _ Supernatural  _ series might be for Jack like this family videos are for us: a glimpse into the past of the people he cares about, so I really liked the idea of him getting to watch some of the series with Makael. 
> 
> That’s it! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
